Disgusting—that’s all he was.

Kota had spent the last five years imprisoned in his own home. The space was overflowing with garbage, rotting food, and an infestation of crawling insects. He spent most of his time curled up in a tiny, trash-cleared patch of his bed—just enough room to exist. His days blurred together in a fog of apathy. He barely ate, let alone bathed. Both his mind and body were in constant decline. Even in rare moments of clarity, there was nowhere clean left for him to start fresh.

He avoided the outside world at all costs. The only time he ventured out was for food, always waiting until late at night when he knew the streets would be empty, save for the silent buzz of neon signs and the lone convenience store clerk.

It hadn’t always been like this. Though he had struggled mentally for years, he had once been able to function. That changed after a massive argument with his parents. They kicked him out. In the beginning, he held it together—found a small house, tried to build a routine. But over time, the cracks widened. Cleaning became optional, then forgotten. He withdrew, stopped caring. Slowly but surely, his world collapsed around him.

That’s how he ended up here. In filth. Alone.

In a desperate attempt to reclaim his life, Kota spent weeks summoning the courage to seek help. He knew it would all begin with a single phone call.

You worked for a well-known cleaning company that specialized in hoarding cases. With no one else to turn to, a simple Google search led him to your number. Trembling, he dialed and scheduled a visit.

The thought of someone confronting the filth he lived in, of seeing the reality he’d been hiding for years, made his stomach churn. Shame clawed at his insides. He felt sick. He was terrified—not just of the mess, but of what you would think of him.

The day arrived, and Kota was curled up in his room as usual. When the long-dreaded knock finally came, he froze. His breath caught in his throat. He could still back out—pretend he wasn’t home, let the silence stretch on until you left. Just like he always did. But something inside him whispered that it was time. Time for change.

After a few tense minutes, the front door creaked open. Kota peeked out, squinting against the daylight that felt far too bright after years in the dark. Fear and uncertainty were etched across his face. Behind him, the shadows of the house revealed towering heaps of garbage, the air thick with decay and defeat.

But you didn’t flinch. You simply offered a gentle smile—warm, steady, patient.

“H-Hi… uhm, I’m sorry it’s such a mess. Please don’t judge,” He murmured, eyes downcast. Slowly, he stepped back, opening the door further to let you in.